


For You, I Would Kneel

by agnes_writes



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Heavy Angst, I'm so sorry, POV Cardan Greenbriar, no beta readers we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28523664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agnes_writes/pseuds/agnes_writes
Summary: The High King should never kneel.For her, he would.But not like this.Never like this.
Relationships: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar
Comments: 7
Kudos: 65





	For You, I Would Kneel

~~~~They say that a king should never kneel.

Kneeling meant submitting, a sign of weakness. The High King should always stand tall and regal among his subjects—his position demands respect, his authority should remained unquestioned.

That's what Cardan's advisers had always told him, what they practically drilled into his mind that he could recite their lectures word for word in his sleep. His queen often liked to tease him that he _does_ , in fact, recite them in his sleep, a sharp twinkle of mischief in her eye and a quirked lip. He'd roll his eyes and press his lips on the crown of her head, and she would sigh at his touch.

And then they would greet their subjects, chin jutted forward, back straightened and eyes scanning the crowd that would all kneel in their honor.

Cardan would turn to his wife, and give her a sly smile, and she would arch a brow at him, returning it. It was an exchange only the two of them understood—how they saw how fit the other is to rule Elfhame, sitting on the throne they built through blood and fire and storms.

In their quietest moments, when they are left alone, Jude had never let Cardan kneel for her. He asks whether their advisers' chiding had gotten to her, but she simply shakes her head and presses her mouth against his, and all his concerns are pushed to the back of his mind. In the dark, when their touches get frantic and their breaths turn into gasps, he whispers her name reverently, like a desperate prayer. _Jude, Jude, Jude_. In his mind, he has her forever. In his mind, he would no longer have to be afraid of losing her.

In his mind, he knows that he would bow—no, he would _kneel_ for her if she asked it of him.

But now, as the iron cuts through his wrists, eating away at his flesh, as he tastes the strange tang of blood at coats his lips, he sees his captors approach the edge of his kingdom, and fear, unlike anything he's ever felt before holds him in a vise-like grip, paralyzing him as he watches them pull his wife closer and closer to edge.

“No,” he starts to say, voice hoarse as he watches Jude struggle against their grip.

He does not know where they slipped up—in a hundred years, they had ruled with a rigid but just hand. Cardan had always been the voice of reason to Jude's iron-clad decrees. But perhaps those hungry for power for themselves will never be content.

“ _Jude!_ ” Cardan calls desperately, and he feels the sharp edge of a blade press against his neck, and his warm blood trickles down to his chest, but he doesn't care. He only cares that his wife is in danger, _if he could only just get to her—_

He doubles over in pain, and Jude screams his name. Dark spots dance across his vision as his brain registers that he was kicked in the stomach. He leans against one of the men holding him, trying to catch his breath, his wife's screams the only thing keeping him from collapsing on the grass. He has to help her, he has to, there must be something, some wretched magic he can call on to save her—

“ _Please_ , just let her go, punish me instead, whatever it is you mean to do—”

He wonders if Jude could hear him, wonders what he thinks of him begging to some lowlife. He wonders whether she knows that he's not beyond begging if only to see her safe.

“Not so fast, _Your Majesty_ ,” one of the captors say, voice mocking. “This woman has made a mockery of Elfhame. She deserves exactly what she's getting.”

“No, please—”

“ _CARDAN!_ ” Jude's voice cracks, thrashing wildly now as they drag her closer and closer to the line where Elfhame meets the human realm. He sees the blood dripping from her wrists from struggling against her bonds, sees sweat gleaming off her forehead and neck as she tries to break free, to run to him—

“No, no, no—”

Jude's expression changes as they cross the threshold—not to that of pain. More of surprise, as if feeling a sensation that she isn't used to. Death. Her eyes widen, her lips part, her breath turns shallow. Cardan didn't want to watch, he wanted to close his eyes and pretend this is a but a nightmare that he'll wake up from in his chambers, Jude sound asleep in his arms.

But it isn't.

He knows what's happening to her—he's heard of it before, murmured in passing by spiteful counselors—a human body getting slammed with years upon years of age that it could no longer process change—Jude still looks to be young, but her body, her organs begin to age faster, faster than she could ever comprehend. Her lungs, her brain... Her heart would stop.

She collapses.

Cardan screams. He lunges for her, ignoring his body aching in protest, ignoring the orders of the men who murdered his wife, they can kill him for all he cares, he just _needs to get to her, to touch her, to hold her, please, if there is any mercy in the world, let him hold her when she takes her final breath—_

They grab him, pulling him back by his arms as he reaches for his wife.

“Jude, Jude, _Jude_ , _please Jude_ —” he keeps saying, calling her name, now a prayer to bring her back, to wake her up, _to wake him up from this terrible dream—_

Cardan's cheeks are wet with tears, his entire body trembling, yearning for Jude and taunts burst from his captors' lips. He doesn't care, he doesn't care, _he needs his wife, he needs Jude—_

His hands slam against the grass, his breath coming in shaky gasps.

Jude would hate him for this, she would, but there is nothing left he could do.

The High King of Elfhame is brought to his knees.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry, I'm in pain, too, this was based on Twitter headcanon and my hands just decided to type this thing on its own.
> 
> Follow me on Twitter: @agneswrites_ and tell me what you think! Thank you for reading! ❤️


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